


The Ones Worth Suffering For

by CrazedPanda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Corporal Punishment, Domestic Discipline, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief, Not a lot of comfort, Sorry guys, Spanking, Stanford Era, belt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 10:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16365860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazedPanda/pseuds/CrazedPanda
Summary: I was inspired by the pic below, but I feel like this story has been brewing for a while.Both John and Dean were broken after Sam left. Normal, healthy, adults might talk about their feelings and seek comfort in each other. The Winchesters aren't really the talk-it-out type of family.Thanks to my betas Edge_of_Clairvoyance, ToscaRosetti, and alexofthegarden, for inspiring me and helping me get this polished for your enjoyment. This is another one I was positive would never be published when I sat down to write it, so if it wasn't for them being awesome, you wouldn't be reading this right now.





	The Ones Worth Suffering For

It had been weeks since Sam had left - weeks of Dean and his father barely speaking a word to each other. Dean had been sifting through whatever leads he could find, but nothing was panning out. Meanwhile, his dad had passed the time renewing his obsession for finding Mary's killer, but he was apparently finding just as much success as Dean with his search - if the collection of empty bottles he was accumulating was any indication. John blamed himself, Dean gravitated between blaming himself and blaming his dad. Something had to give.

They'd been at their chosen diversions all day, John on the couch and Dean slumped in the armchair, when John threw down the text he'd been pouring over with a grunt of anger. “Dean, hand me that paper. I may as well find us something to do.”

Dean shrugged.“I already looked, came up empty.” He started reaching for the newspaper sitting on the coffee table, but his hand froze in mid air at his dad's reply.

“Well, that was you, wasn't it? Said I was gonna take a look. Now hand it over - without the nonessential chatter.”

Something rose up in Dean at that. He'd been jonesing for a fight, and he may have just found it. Still, his backtalk came out in a growling mutter. “Oh, yeah, I'm sure you'll be able to do better; good ol’ Jack and Jim are known for improving research skills.” Instead of picking up the newspaper, as he'd originally planned, he shoved it across the table in his father's general direction. 

John looked at the paper in disbelief, before pinning his son with a flat glare. “You wanna try that again?”

Something in the back of Dean’s mind was sounding off all kinds of warning bells, but there was a satisfaction in the adrenaline rush, a vast relief from the emptiness and quiet. “You heard me. Although, maybe not, you've been drinking like you think you'll find the answers in the bottom o' one of those bottles.”

John gripped the edge of the table, his response low and threatening. “You're out of line.” 

Dean's voice found a bit of volume, “Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do, whip me? Or just kick me out?”

John's head snapped up. He sounded carefully controlled, but the fury underneath his words was easy for Dean to catch. “If you think you can get away with blatant disrespect, because you think you're too old for me to take a belt to, you've got another thing coming.”

Dean snorted, “I _think_ you won't be able to swing straight enough to do it, but you're welcome to try, old man.”

John was on his feet, hand at his belt buckle, in an instant. “Fine, get your ass up; bend over that chair.”

Dean stood, his demeanor and tone insolent. “Oh, you're gonna take it out on me? That's real nice. Smart. It's a wonder Sam left, with parenting skills like that.” He didn't fight as John twisted his arm behind him, but he didn't submit either. He was turned around and shoved into the armchair stomach first, his dad's weight pressing down on him as his hand started whaling on whatever parts of Dean's ass and upper legs he could reach - the accuracy and impact of the blows weren't as sharp as John could usually pull off, since his upper body was holding Dean in place, but his father could make an impression even in less than ideal conditions. 

His dad paused, both of them heaving puffs of air. “You gonna stay down?”

Dean grit out the “yes, sir” from between clenched teeth. He wasn't done, but neither was his dad. The weight disappeared and at the clink of the belt buckle, he felt the flutter of anxiety in his stomach from years of association, while the tension in his other muscles relaxed. He welcomed the pain, welcomed the feeling of absolution the punishment would bring. It was nothing less than he deserved. If he'd been better; done a better job, Sam wouldn't have left. At the very least, he should have kept the argument from escalating as far as it did. Dean didn't move from where his dad had left him; his right arm pinned beneath him; his left hand still resting on the middle of his back. 

The belt sliced across his ass and his dad fell into a comfortable rhythm. The sting grew into a burn slowly through his jeans as his dad thoroughly and methodically went over his entire rear from just below his back, to partway down his thighs before starting over again. It was comforting in its familiarity. He didn't have to think about how bad he'd let his family down; that he was left holding the splintered remains of everything he'd ever wanted - worked for, fought for, bled for. He didn't have to think about how badly they'd let him down either. All he had to do was breathe through the pain. To concentrate on keeping quiet and still once the belt really start to cut after the third pass. To wait for it to be over.

Finally, the pattern broke apart. The belt started falling faster, no longer methodical; striking the same place multiple times before continuing on. Dean could feel his muscles start to quiver from the effort of keeping himself from reacting to the blows. He pressed his mouth into the chair leather to keep the smallest noise from escaping. The tears springing to his eyes he couldn't help and didn't care about so much. He'd get rid of the evidence before anyone could see. 

A half dozen wicked lashes to the lowest part of his ass and once again the only noise was their heavy breathing.

Finally, John broke the silence. “If you're done, I'm heading out. I need some air.”

He could hear his dad putting his belt back on and walking to the table in the kitchenette to grab his boots and coat. Dean stood up, wincing slightly. He waited for the feeling of resolution, of having paid for all the ways in which he'd screwed up, but he just felt . . . Nothing. The same. Sam was still gone and his dad was about leave too. Suddenly he couldn't bear to watch him walk out the door. He followed him into the kitchen area. 

“No.” His voice was hoarse. He hoped his dad wouldn't be able to hear the desperation in it. 

John looked at him like he'd grown two heads. “‘No’?”

“I'm not done. I was right; you're off your game. You can't even manage to swing a belt, there's no way you're taking the Impala.”

“You serious? The hell is wrong with you?”

“You're what's wrong with me.” He crossed his arms in front of him and raised his eyebrows daring John to do something about it. 

○<×>●<×>○<×>●<×>○<×>●<×>○<×>●<×>○<×>●

Disbelieving of the turn this day had taken, John ran a hand down his face. “Damn it, Dean, can't you leave me in peace?”

“That what you want? To be left alone? Well, you're doing a fine job of it then, I guess.” 

Normally he would be tempted to slap that look off his son's face, but it was unlike Dean to act this way. The stubbornness, the backtalk, the disrespect, it was reminding him more of recent conversations with Sam and he just felt wiped. 

Dean was waiting for a response, though, and he couldn't show weakness, couldn't let him see how this whole situation was breaking him. “Fine. Apparently, I didn't make my point the first time. Bend over the counter, Dean.”

Dean hesitated, still glaring at him, and John wasn't sure what he was going to do if he refused the order, but with a last snort of defiance, Dean turned and leaned over, putting his hands on the edge of the cheap countertop. John breathed a silent sigh of relief. 

He made sure his voice was confident and biting. “No. Pants down. I wanna make sure you feel it this time.”

Another brief hesitation, but Dean straightened without looking at him, unbuckled his belt, and slid his pants and boxers together over his hips. He released them to pool around his ankles before returning to his former position.

John refrained from gasping audibly at the sight of his son's ass. He hadn't been cruel, but the belt had most definitely done its work. The deep red was already mottled and streaked with purple and completely covered his butt all the way down to mid thigh. That Dean had kept perfectly silent during the whipping, together with the fact he'd been allowed to keep his clothes on, had made John assume he must not have felt it as much as he normally would. 

But why then would Dean persist in his rebellion? What would possess him to seek out further punishment when he'd already received a thorough tanning?

Everything started clicking into place. When Dean was younger, if he was feeling guilt over something, he would intentionally provoke a punishment. Once John had caught on, it wasn't difficult to spot; his son was so transparent to anyone who knew him. He hadn't had that issue for some time. John had learned to set him drills to run through, and let him feel like he was paying his dues while blowing off steam, then the excitement of the next hunt would drive from his mind whatever perceived transgression Dean thought he'd committed.

It was easy enough to recall his patterns. His worst bouts of guilt had to do with Sam - everything in Dean's world came down to his baby brother. Dean was blaming himself for Sam leaving. It didn't make sense, but it did to Dean - somehow - John was certain of it. With this realization, he wanted to break down, hold his boy, tell him how sorry he was; that it wasn't his fault, but his hard-headed father's. But that's not the way they did things, nor would Dean accept that he wasn't to blame just because John said so. 

There was only one way he could help Dean. He removed his belt a second time. Walking over to stand at his son's left side, he put out his hand and rested it on Dean's back. Dean flinched at the touch, then all tension and resistance left him. 

John kept his voice calm, but firm, “This attitude you've been copping is unacceptable. You're gonna take your licking, shape up, and move on. You understand me?” 

“Yessir.” Dean's tone was full of relief, strengthening John's resolve. 

He raised the belt, and began to swing it in sharp, rapid pops, strategically covering his entire ass, but keeping him guessing as to where the next blow would land. Sure enough, he could hear the short gasping breaths that said Dean was so close to his breaking point. His legs were trembling and his knuckles white, gripping the counter for dear life. Some soft moans finally escaped through his son's clenched teeth. A few last strokes on the tenderest skin low across his ass and the heaving breaths told him he was done. 

He set the belt on the countertop and lifted Dean to sag against his chest. He struggled to keep his voice from cracking. “We're okay, Dean. You paid for it, it's over.” 

John stomach churned at his own words - at the knowledge that Dean thought this mess was due to any shortcoming or failing on his part. At the reminder that, thanks to his own stubbornness, it would never be over; he'd pushed away his younger son, and irreparably damaged their relationship. 

His words weren't meant for his own peace of mind, though - they were for Dean's. His son's hands slowly came up to grip his jacket and John wrapped his arms around him, determined to hold him as long as the moment would allow. Dean's quiet sobs and tears dried up pretty quickly, but John hoped it had been enough. He hadn't had the heart to go any further. 

He made sure Dean was steady on his feet before reluctantly letting go. “We're getting out of here. You're right; no case, so it's high time we went and found one. Get packed.”

Dean seemed content as he righted his clothes and moved to obey. A hunt was what they both needed. And if Dean still felt like he owed some penance after sitting on his welts for the next few hours, he'd have him run laps or something. 

John couldn't take back what he'd done. Any of it. But maybe he could try not to completely let down his remaining son, and maybe together they could try to keep from letting down Mary.


End file.
